Colored By Tragedy
by xXxRavenXDameonxXx
Summary: Slipping slowly into an abysmal world of grays and blacks, Gakupo Kamui has reached his end. Depression and self-destructive thoughts plague his mind, pushing him closer and closer to suicide every day. Until, that is, he meets Len Kagamine - the teen whose chance encounters slowly but surely come to bring color back into Gakupo's life.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: This fic has very heavy themes of depression, suicide, and death, so please, please be careful reading.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

If he had to tell, Gakupo Kamui probably wouldn't be able to say for certain when it had first started. Sometime between high school and college he'd lost something. Little by little, piece by piece, like a jigsaw puzzle being pushed slowly off a table. It had to have been during his internship the fall semester before his spring graduation that he finally realized what it was.

Color.

He was an art student – not any art student, either. One with an original style, with "talent" and "potential" and the "drive" to make his passion his career. He was blinding in comparison to his classmates, beloved by his mentors.

Now the thought only brought a bitter smile and half-empty bottle to his lips.

"Potential my ass." He let his head fall back, long hair falling over the arm of the couch and pooling on the floor. Once it had been a silken violet, now it seemed as dull a gray as his eyes and the ceiling they bore listlessly into.

 _"Artist's block,"_ they said. _"Paint every day and it will pass."_

Gakupo snickered. "As long as they keep making money…" The last drop of liquor touched his tongue, and he let the bottle fall to the floor. If it broke, he didn't hear it; he could only hope it had. In truth, he was envious. How easy it was to be a bottle, drained of your contents and dropped, shattering into a million glittering shards and disappearing from the world. _Is that what I've become…?_ Too tired to sleep and too restless to walk, the man sat up. His heart stuttered for a moment as he imagined it – falling. Falling and falling and hitting… hitting what? The pavement? Rocks? Water? _All of those options sound better than this._

He put his head in his hand, unable to stop the trembling that came over his body. His other hand fumbled in his pocket until finally a pack of cigarettes was produced. He shook the box until one slid free, taking it between his lips and dropping the rest of the box on the coffee table. Unlike his hair, the coffee table looked to be meticulously kept. Only four things rested upon it. Cigarettes, a lighter, an ashtray, and his next bottle of liquor. His fingers found the lighter and with a practiced ease he lit the cigarette in his mouth. The first drag was as sweet as ever, soothing his nerves even as the fire dancing before his eyes brought his heart-rate up again.

 _How hard would it be to drop this right now…?_ He gripped the lighter more tightly in his shaking fingers, releasing the switch and watching with an ache that resembled disappointment as the fire vanished before his eyes. _It would cause too much trouble for the landlord if I let this apartment catch fire, after all._

It was a nice enough studio apartment with a loft and large windows. At one point in time, Gakupo could vaguely remember falling in love with the place, exclaiming something hopelessly childish about the great view of the nearby park and using the loft as his painting space. The only thing darker than the curtains on the windows, though, were the ones thrown haphazardly over all of the paintings in his home. And yet, like the coffee table, the floors and shelves and appliances were impeccably cleaned. After working so hard to keep up the appearance of the place, Gakupo decided that even more than not wanting to cause the landlord trouble by burning it down, he really couldn't stand the thought of the soot and ashes piling up on every flat surface like dust.

Somewhere in the apartment, his phone rang.

Gakupo couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the device; he knew by the ringtone that it was his old workplace calling again. And again.

 _"Don't throw your future away – All you have is art – You're at the lead of the next generation of greats – We'll give you another chance."_

"I don't want it." He snuffed the butt of the cigarette out in the ashtray and immediately reached for another. _Then what do you want?_

Gakupo realized quite suddenly that he didn't have an answer for himself. The voice, jaded and bitter in the back of his mind, took advantage, sweeping on in a low, urgent tone. _You're just a coward, aren't you? You got lucky with the apartment, using that commission to pay your entire lease worth of rent off in advance. But what about when that lease ends? Will you paint again?_ It scoffed. _As if you could. You can't pick up a paint brush and you can't pick up a gun. So what_ can _you do?_

The bottle came back to front of his mind. Hollow – falling – broken.

 _If I don't do something soon,_ Gakupo realized bleakly, _I won't do anything at all. I'll suffer like this, and keep suffering. I'll answer the phone and I'll hate myself more and more with every gray smudge I force onto canvas and…_ Ashes fell, forgotten, from the end of his cigarette. _I want to die._

Gakupo lurched to his feet. He hardly felt the broken glass beneath him as he staggered to the bathroom. He thought about death so often, so vividly. Cars and trains and the ocean and knives… Everything he saw seemed a means to an end. But he had never realized – or perhaps had been too scared to realize – why. He splashed water on his face and pulled his hair back into a sloppy ponytail.

 _I want to end this._

A ghost of a smile haunted his lips as he pulled on his shoes.

 _I want to die._

His keys jingled as he thrust them into his pocket.

 _I want this gray world to disappear forever._

Every step brought a sharper pain and scathing resolve to Gakupo.

 _But where? How?_ His pace slowed as he deliberated. He decided quite quickly that the city wouldn't do. He didn't want his battle—no matter the victory he achieved as an outcome—to become a spectacle. This was something he had to do alone.

 _That old bridge._ Gakupo could have hummed he was so pleased. It stretched high above a river on an old hiking trail not far from the city. He could easily walk there with the daylight he had left, and it only made sense in his faltering mind that he would die at night, with darkness and cold gunmetal moonlight to hide his end from sight. Before he knew it, Gakupo was running. His lungs burned and his chest ached but he wouldn't slow. He couldn't.

He was gasping for breath when he reached the hiking trails, desperation and nearly crippling fear pushing him faster – farther – _die_.

The setting sun flickered between the gaps in the trees. It should have been a beautiful sight; it _was_ autumn. Leaves would be changing colors, decorating the mountain forests with blazes of brilliant color. But Gakupo couldn't see any of it. He could almost taste the frigid water crashing over him, feel its chill settling in his throbbing throat and airways. _Almost there…!_

He staggered out of the trees shaking, his chest heaving in equal parts panic and elation. He could see the small canyon, the old wooden bridge. _Almost…_

Then he saw it.

Just a flash, the smallest of flickers, like an ember in the smoldering bed of charcoal sunlight.

 _Yellow._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Gakupo woke with a groan. His tongue was parched and his head was pounding, and almost all of his memories prior were a turbid blur of storm clouds and slate. All but one.

His fingers twitched.

 _What… happened?_ He blinked up at the ceiling, only to screw his eyes shut again, the whiteness of the room turning his dull headache into a pronounced hammering. _Was I asleep all this time? Was that just a dream?_ Soft footsteps and the subtle creak of a door forced Gakupo's eyes open again.

"Oh, you're awake…!"

 _A… nurse…?_ The girl smiled sweetly. Gakupo's brows furrowed. _When did I…_

"Ah, you seem a little confused… You didn't hit your head when you fell, did you?" She walked to his bed side and lay a cool hand on his forehead. _I fell…?_ "Can you tell me your name, please?"

She produced a bottle of water and opened it. Gakupo took it slowly, swallowing a few bland mouthfuls before rasping out, "Gakupo. Gakupo Kamui."

"Thank you, Mr. Kamui. We have your keys, but couldn't find any identification on you. Do you, by chance, remember who your emergency contacts are? We'd like to inform your loved ones of your location."

Gakupo shook his head. "I don't…" He thought idly of Luka, two years his junior and a close friend throughout college. She would be busy, though, just starting the fall of her last year of college. "I don't have any emergency contacts. I live alone."

"Employer?" The nurse's gray-shaded eyes darkened with sympathy, sending flurries of shame and anger rippling through Gakupo's veins. _I don't need you to feel sorry for me._

"I am currently unemployed."

"I see…" She rested her hand over his, as if the gesture would comfort him. "Well, I'll let the doctor know. In the meantime, please get some rest."

With that she left Gakupo alone. He closed his eyes, trying to recall the events leading to his ending up in what appeared to be a hospital. _I want to die._

His eyes flew open. _I was going to jump._ He remembered running through the city, down the beaten trail through the trees and their ashen bark and falling leaves. He remembered his joy, his fear, his _longing_ to plunge into the blackness and escape everything. _But what…_

His fingers twitched, and he clenched them into a trembling fist.

 _Yellow…?_

A sound reached his ears, soft soothing.

 _"…zumu taiyou… wo nagameru… futo osowareru samishisa ni… kuchizusamu… melody…"_

"That…" Even as the sound faded away, Gakupo's heart raced. His voice and breath failed him. He _remembered_.

Sitting there, on the railing of the very bridge he'd planned to throw himself off of, had been someone – or something. And in the suffocating fog of grays and blacks Gakupo had seen a color. Just one, between one heartbeat and the next, a brilliant yellow, like the first glimmer of dawn or the shine of sunlight off restless waters.

With the force of a train, desire struck Gakupo, dragging him back into the depths of unconsciousness, lest he face the terror of the urge wracking his fingertips.

 _I want to paint._

* * *

Gakupo was released after only a few days, when his feet had healed enough for him to walk properly. He hurried home in the new shoes the hospital had provided him with, granted that his own were filled with broken glass and coated with blood. He was nearly shaking from the lack of nicotine in his system, and it was only once he was safely behind his locked apartment door and half-way through his third cigarette that the man could slow down and _think_ again.

Years he had spent in darkness, in a world devoid of color. But then he had definitely – more than likely – seen color.

 _Even if it was just one, just for a moment… does this mean…_ Impulsively, with uneven steps and an erratic pulse, Gakupo moved around his apartment tearing the curtains from the canvases he'd kept covered for so long.

 _No…_ One after another, growing more frustrated with every bleak landscape revealed. _No, no, no…!_ All of them gray. All of them dark. All of them leering at him like the blackness in his own heart.

 _Where did your resolve go?_ Caustic and dry, his conscience sneered. _Were you so scared of dying that you fooled yourself into believing there was still something worth living for? And_ yellow _of all colors! You've never liked yellow._

 _But I wanted to paint it._ Gakupo folded in on himself, crumpling into a quivering heap of sterilized clothes and ragged sobs. _I want to die. I want to paint. If I keep painting, I'll definitely die. If I die, I'll never be able to paint again._ He felt his fingernails digging into his forehead. A broken whisper fell from his lips, "I hate myself."

Hours later, Gakupo came to again, his forehead pressed to the chilled floor and his lashes crusted with dried tears. His muscles were half-numb, and his knees nearly gave out as he struggled to his feet. His teeth clenched together and battling the urge to throw up, Gakupo picked up the curtains sprawled all across the apartment. One by one he tossed them back over the sickening gray depictions of the world he couldn't escape.

With even his conscience numbed, Gakupo could only fall onto the couch and stare up at the ceiling. _If only I could see it one more time…_

A faint melody echoed around the back of his mind, lulling him into a semblance of sleep. _Where have I heard that before…? The hospital? No…_

For the first time that he could remember, Gakupo dreamed that night. Not of car crashes or gunshots, but of running through a forest of monochrome leaves. As the path stretched on, he realized that he wasn't running _away_ from anything—he was running towards something, following a lazy tune as it drifted through the heavy fog. Just when he thought he'd be running forever, he broke out of the trees, a sharp gasp puncturing his lungs as he was nearly swept off of his feet by the ferocity of the urge that thrummed through his entire being. _I have to paint, just one more time – just once more before the end._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Just wanted to throw out a big thank you to my reviewer, Lenka002! I'm so glad that you're enjoying this fic, and I hope you continue to do so ^-^**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

It wasn't a conscious decision, that much at least, Gakupo was fairly certain of.

Somehow, some way, he'd found himself standing at the start of the hiking trail, hands thrust into his pockets and a cigarette clamped too tightly between his teeth. It was cold. He was painfully sober and his feet carried a lingering ache. Heedless of these discomforts and his desire to flee back to his apartment where he could waste away in peace, his legs moved him forward.

It was the fourth day in a row.

Gakupo had a sneaking suspicion that his dream, and the inaudible lyrics that had spiraled through it, was the driving force behind his near-obsession with revisiting the place he had nearly died. The memory sent a tremor down his spine. Still, he walked, eyes downcast as the melody from his dream played on in the back of his mind.

It wasn't until it changed that Gakupo realized that the sound wasn't in his mind at all. Floating on the breeze, like the warble of a songbird, the same soft song reached his ears.

"…futo ozureru… shizukesa wo… magirasu… melody…"

Gakupo stumbled forward, his heartbeat quickening as he stepped out of the shade of the trees into the watery autumn sunlight. At once, his breath left his body. The bridge stretched before him, framed by fallen leaves, and sitting upon the railing was a boy. His legs swung lazily as his voice faded into a gentle hum. But what had caught Gakupo's breath and tore it from his lungs was the boy's hair, tugged back into a messy ponytail and as bright a yellow as the sun above them. _Is this…_

"Oh," the boy turned his head, blinking curiously at Gakupo as he stared. "You came back. Are you feeling better?" His voice was as smooth when he spoke as it was when he sang, every syllable carrying its own subtle lilt. Gakupo's fingers fisted more tightly in his pockets.

"Feeling better?" He croaked, only to swallow hard and clear his throat.

The boy smiled such a sad smile that Gakupo felt his heart ache. "You came to jump, didn't you?" His eyes strayed back to the river he sat so far above. "I heard it's not uncommon here."

"I…" Gakupo's voice failed. He frowned and pulled a fresh cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with trembling fingers. Finally, he let out a cloud of smoke in a heavy sigh. "Yes, I suppose I did."

"Mhm. But you didn't."

"No, I guess not." Gakupo shifted his weight uncomfortably. Something about the kid made him uneasy, but he couldn't figure out what exactly it was. Maybe it was the way his smile never quite reached his eyes, or the way his skin seemed so pale in comparison to the filter of grays Gakupo saw the world through. He tried to shrug away the discomfort. "What about you? Did you…?" He nodded towards the bridge. "Come to jump, that is."

A breathy laugh, no more than a whisper of wind through the leaves, brightened the boy's features. "No," he shook his head. "I just like the view."

"Oh." Gakupo tried to remember the last time he had enjoyed looking at anything. Unsurprisingly, no such instance came to mind.

As if something had just occurred to him, the boy turned toward Gakupo abruptly, his eyes a little wider. "You didn't come to jump again, did you?"

"Er, ah… no." Gakupo blew out another cloud of smoke. _Why does he look so relieved…?_

"That's good," he sighed. "You should thank me, you know." He swung his legs around and scooted off the railing, landing delicately on the wooden bridge. His fingers curled tightly around his former perch. "Who knows what may have happened if I hadn't been here."

Gakupo couldn't help but to raise a skeptical eyebrow at the smirk playing about the boy's lips. "Is that so?" He was surprised. The kid was somehow taller _and_ shorter than Gakupo was expecting.

"It is," he huffed. "For all you know, I carried you single-handedly all the way to the start of the trail so that the ambulance could pick you up."

"Somehow I doubt that," Gakupo snorted. "You're what? Twelve?"

A furious flush colored the boy's cheeks, tinting them the softest hue of pink Gakupo had ever seen. _Pink…?!_ "A-as if!" The boy was stammering, his eyes narrowing into a mutinous glare. "I'm seventeen, as if it's any of your business…!"

"Seventeen?" Gakupo's tone was blatantly incredulous. "Are you certain?"

As quickly as it had come, the anger faded from the boy's eyes. "I can't really be angry; I get that a lot believe it or not."

Despite himself, Gakupo felt a half-smile tugging at his own chapped lips. "No," he drawled, "really?"

A comfortable silence fell between them until the boy finally spoke again. "I should be going," his knuckles were nearly white where he was gripping the wooden railing.

"I guess your parents will be worried," Gakupo realized vaguely that it was already getting dark.

The boy glanced away. "Yeah, something like that."

"Should I… walk you back? I might owe you my life, after all." Gakupo was taken aback by the sudden diffidence that overcame the teen.

"Ah, no, that's alright. You go on ahead." He rubbed the back of his head with his free hand. It wasn't until Gakupo had already shrugged and started walking away that the boy added, a nervous quaver in his voice, "I come here often, so… if you ever feel like jumping again, just wait for me, okay?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 _Wait for me, okay?_

Gakupo's fingers gripped the railing more tightly. Splinters bit into his palms. For a week, he'd managed to fight himself. He was nearly out of money for both cigarettes and alcohol, and even just the trivial matter of choosing one over the other made the water below look that much more tempting. _When did I become so weak?_ The tops of his arms were red, nearly scratched raw by his own fingernails as he'd paced and paced, wanting to die, wanting to wait.

 _Wait for what?_ He shut his eyes tightly, as if that might block the harsher voice in his mind. _For that brat to come wandering along? I thought this was something you had to do alone – a battle only you can end._

"No," his voice was a gravelly whisper, sore from not being used in the past week.

"Yes."

Gakupo's eyes shot wide, and he whipped his head to the side to see none other than the kid from before. He stood at the edge of the bridge, his hands in his pockets and his head cocked curiously to the side. A small smile graced his pale features. "Ah, sorry, am I interrupting?" He walked slowly to stand next to where Gakupo sat on the railing, leaning forward and staring down at the river. "It sure is a long way down."

Gakupo tried to find words, but came up empty-handed. In the end, he could only follow the teen's gaze, his hair shielding his face from view as he watched the black water slither along its winding path.

Seeming unbothered by the silence, the kid spoke again. "It's pretty cold today, isn't it?" His breath was, Gakupo realized, coming out in small clouds. "Hopefully it'll warm up once the sun's up."

"Are you always up this early?" Gakupo raked his hair back, pulling his fingers through it and trying to put on an indifferent face as he looked at the teen again.

"Sometimes," he glanced at Gakupo out of the corner of his eye. "You don't have to put that mask on, you know."

Gakupo turned his gaze away again. Silence fell between them, broken only by the subtle sounds of the mountains coming to life in the pale light of dawn. Without much warning, the kid put a hand on his back. Before Gakupo could ask what had prompted the gesture, his fingers clenched in his shirt, and with a hefty tug, he pulled Gakupo backwards off of the railing. A startled exclamation escaped Gakupo's throat as he landed - flat on his back -on the wooden bridge.

"It's dangerous to sit there," the kid leaned over him, his hands on his knees. "You might fall." For a moment that seemed to last forever, Gakupo could only stare up at him and his windblown yellow hair. Another one of those smiles, one that never touched his gray eyes, pulled at the corners of his lips. "I'm Len, by the way."

"…Gakupo." The artist sat up slowly. "It's… nice to meet you."

"Same. It's been hard to keep thinking of you as 'that guy I saved the other day.'"

"'That kid' was working pretty well for me," Gakupo snickered dryly. He stood and brushed the dust from his clothes while the kid—Len—narrowed his eyes into a glare.

"That's no way to talk to your savior," he chided with a click of his tongue. He turned back towards the railing, rubbing his hands together as he leaned forward. "You should show me some more respect."

"My apologies, Len-sama, how can I properly show my gratitude?" Gakupo's deadpan tone brought laughter bubbling from the teen's chest.

"So you're familiar with Japanese," his cheeks flushed ever-so-slightly. "Ha… I guess I should have known by your name."

 _What is he getting so self-conscious about?_ Gakupo's heart stuttered in his chest. He'd be lying if he said the boy wasn't cute, gazing down the canyon with a rose-petal blush staining his cheeks. "I am," he finally agreed, pushing back his ridiculous thoughts with an inward shake of his head. _What are you even thinking? You came here to kill yourself, not befriend this boy._ Somehow, with Len standing in his line of sight, the voice that once seemed so loud and demanding had faded into a barely audible whisper. Lost in thought, quietly observing his unlikely companion, Gakupo couldn't help but to see the shiver that rippled through the boy's torso.

"H-hey," he stepped forward and leaned his elbows on the railing beside Len. "Are you cold? Should you be out here wearing so little?"

Len shrugged, looking sheepish. "I've got on a jacket and boots, I thought that would be plenty."

"You're shivering," Gakupo frowned. Len's fingers were as white as snow, trembling as he clasped his hands together. "Baka," he muttered. He pulled the gloves from his own hands and pushed them unceremoniously towards the teen. "Put these on before your fingers fall off."

"I couldn't…" Len's features softened into something akin to sympathy. "Then you'll…"

"I'll be fine." Gakupo pulled the scarf from his neck and started wrapping it around Len's, making sure to wind it up around his mouth and nose. "Just put them on, or I'll do it for you." Gakupo didn't take his eyes off of the boy until the gloves—far too large for his slender hands—were on and secured snugly beneath the sleeves of his jacket. He pushed his own hands back into his pockets, achingly aware of the dried blood beneath his nails from his anxious scratching.

If Len noticed, he didn't say anything; not directly at least. Looking at the limp fingertips of the gloves he mumbled through Gakupo's scarf, "Your hands are awfully dry. If you put on lotion before you go to bed your knuckles and fingertips won't split like that."

"Speaking from experience?" Gakupo cocked one eyebrow up, and Len shook his head.

"Not quite," he chuckled. "It's just something I've heard. I'm sure you've already noticed, but my skin is pretty great."

Gakupo rolled his eyes. "It must be your modesty that gives it that subtle glow."

"Mhm," Len hummed. "Must be."

Two pairs of charcoal eyes turned back to the churning river. They stayed there until the sun was nearly right above them, caught in their own thoughts and not yet willing to give up the simple company. Without any real announcement, Gakupo straightened. Len didn't move, so he took that as a sign that it was okay for him to leave. _I need to buy cigarettes, after all._

And though no good byes were exchanged, no formal agreement made, Gakupo knew that somehow, he'd see Len there again.

 _Maybe next time,_ he mused, examining his chapped fingertips as he walked back down the trail, _I won't be there to jump. Maybe… maybe I'll bring some paint._

And like an ocean swelling in his lungs Gakupo decided that his last painting – the final mark he'd leave on the world before ending his gray-tinted life – had to be of Len.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'd like to start with a big thank you to my two reviewers, Lynne and Lenka002! I love you guys and really, really appreciate the feedback! Also, Lenka, it's a secret ;3 ... not really, I'm just kidding. But it will be mentioned very soon, so no worries! Once it is mentioned, I _highly_ recommend looking it up; I've pretty much been listening to it and a select few others on repeat as I type this. So... yeah. Thanks again you guys, I hope you continue enjoying this story!**

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

One slow drag at a time, Gakupo smoked away all thoughts of him picking up his paintbrush. Two weeks it had been since he'd last seen Len, since he'd decided what his last painting would be of. And for two weeks, the curious teen had been gone. He and his yellow hair and pink-tinted cheeks seemed to have disappeared off of the face of Gakupo's dreary gray planet.

So he sat, head back, eyes dull, and wondered why it was he ever thought he could paint again in the first place.

 _As if one boy could change anything._ He held one hand in front of his face, examining the healing skin. The lotion had burned – not an entirely unwelcome sensation, Gakupo had admitted grudgingly – but like Len had said, his hands were no longer so dry that they cracked and bled. _I hate myself._ It wasn't that he wanted to take his advice; without any gloves to speak of, cashiers would certainly realize something was wrong when they saw his broken fingernails and cracked skin. He knew for a fact that he'd garnered attention when he'd bought his cigarettes. _I hate being this way._

Agitated, Gakupo stood and kicked the first the thing he laid eyes on. The coffee table tipped, sending its sparse contents—an empty liquor bottle and two empty packs of cigarettes—sliding across the living room floor. _I want to die._ He considered skipping the jump and just running into oncoming traffic. His hands quivered as he imagined his body getting lifted by the force of a semi, sending him rolling, skidding, _scraping_ across the pavement and under the wheels of a truck that couldn't hit its brakes in time.

Before he knew it, he'd pulled on his shoes and was out the door, keys biting into one palm and his lighter clamped firmly in the other.

 _Wait for me, okay?_

Gakupo grit his teeth, damning himself as he froze in his tracks at the intersection. _Fuck waiting!_ He snarled inwardly. The light flickered from one shade of gray to one lighter, and Gakupo let the other people crossing the street usher him along. _I'll go to the bridge, and this time – this time for sure…_

A sense of deja vu seized him as he broke into a sprint, the wind biting at his bare arms. He didn't need a jacket, he reasoned idly, to jump off of a bridge. What did a little cold matter when death's frigid embrace awaited him? _I can only hope Hell is a little warmer this time of year._

He didn't let himself slow until he was approaching the bridge, his breath coming and going in sharp gasps as he staggered out of the trees.

And as if the universe had caught on to his delusion of familiarity, for the first time in two weeks, Len was there.

He sat on the railing, his chin tucked to his chest and his golden hair shading his eyes. For once, his grip seemed slack, his pale hands resting loosely on the bar.

"How…" Gakupo's fists clenched impossibly tighter in his pockets. Fury crashed over and through him, wracking his form and searing his veins with its white-hot flames. _How dare you…!_ He stormed across the bridge, ready to give the teen a piece of his mind. _How dare you tell me to wait, to keep living this worthless life, while you disappear out of it like you never existed…! How dare you give me the desire to paint and then rip it from my fingers like that…!_ As he approached, however, something changed. The teen's already-lax shoulders slumped ever so slightly, and without any reaction at all, Len started to lean, his hands falling free from the rail as his weight slid forward.

"What the hell?!" Gakupo lunged forward, tearing his hand out of his pocket and snatching the back of the kid's jacket. _Dead weight…?!_ He pulled with all of the strength he could muster, his heart pounding as the teen fell back onto the bridge, completely limp. _Is he…dead?_ Gakupo dropped beside him, all of his prior fury melting into a quickly mounting panic. "Len? Hey, answer me!"

A shudder passed through his body, followed by a deep exhale. _He's breathing, thank God…_ Gakupo started fumbling through Len's pockets, hoping to find whatever cell phone he'd used to call 911 when Gakupo had passed out. He was surprised to find, instead of a cell phone, a small pager-like device on a keychain, clipped securely to one of the teen's belt loops. There was a note scrawled on the back in handwriting that vaguely resembled that of the last doctor Gakupo had seen in his brief hospital visit

"If found sleeping," he read aloud, his brow furrowed, "please move inside and press the yellow button." He frowned at the boy. He did, in fact, seem to be sleeping. His face was relaxed, his eyelashes fluttering as if he was even dreaming. _Narcolepsy?_ Still uncertain, Gakupo stood, pulling the surprisingly light teen with him and hauling him onto his back. _Even so, I don't feel right just leaving him inside somewhere…_

With no real idea of what he should do, Gakupo started the trek back to the start of the trail. Len's soft, steady breaths billowed across his neck, sending warmth rippling through Gakupo's body despite his lack of a jacket. He was nearly at the trailhead when the boy stirred.

"…who…" His lips barely moved against Gakupo's shoulder.

"It's me," Gakupo stopped walking, mentally kicking himself as he clarified lamely, "Gakupo."

"Oh," Len sighed. "Good… don't…" His breath was leveling out again.

"Oi, oi!" Gakupo jumped up and down in place. "Don't fall back asleep…!"

The smallest of laughs blew across Gakupo's neck. "Just don't push that button, okay…?"

"Then what…" _He's asleep again._ Gakupo blew out a frustrated sigh. _So what am I supposed to do with him if I can't push the button?!_ At the end of his anxiety's painfully short leash, Gakupo found himself unable to do anything more than bring the sleeping boy back to his own apartment. The voice in the back of his mind plagued him the whole way.

 _So now you've taken up kidnapping?_

 _And what, pray tell, will you do once you get him back? Paint him? Unconscious?_

 _And when he wakes? What will you tell him? Will you mention the split second in which you envied him—the moment when you considered letting him fall and following him down?_

Gakupo kicked his door shut with more force than necessary. _I'll let him sleep._ He dropped Len gracelessly onto his couch. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, he righted the coffee table and threw away the empty bottles and boxes of cigarettes that littered his home. When he felt the place was clean enough, he sat on the floor in front of the couch, a lit cigarette between his lips and some movie or another buzzing in the background. His eyes were turned towards the screen, but his mind was on the sleeping teen behind him.

 _Don't people like this have to wear a wristband or something?_ He contemplated looking for one, but remembered vividly the day he'd given Len his gloves. There had been no such thing on his arm, of at least that much Gakupo was certain. _And if he knows well enough to carry around a pager, then why the hell would he do something as dangerous as sitting on a bridge?!_

"Tch…!" Quickly growing angry again, Gakupo blew out a frustrated sigh with a cloud of smoke, slamming the butt of his finished cigarette into the ashtray and immediately lighting another. He let his head rest on the couch cushion behind him, his eyes slipping shut.

 _Rain…?_ He could hear it pattering on the windows. He didn't remember seeing clouds, but then, he reasoned, after pulling Len off of the bridge he didn't remember much of what he saw. Mentally and physically exhausted, it didn't take long for the sound of the rain and gentle humming to lull him into a tranquil slumber, and for the second time since he met Len, Gakupo dreamt – not of empty gray liquor bottles and the subfusc smoke that came from his cigarettes, or of knives and nooses and _falling_ – but of a little bridge between two mountains, and the sad smile and splash of yellow that had, even if just for a month, kept him alive.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: To my reviewer! Lenka002, thank you! I'm glad his condition threw a bit of a twist in for you! :D And it shouldn't be long now, it's a sweet song ^-^ thanks again, I hope you like this chapter~**

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

It wasn't a completely unfamiliar sensation, that of fingers combing gently through his hair, but it was one Gakupo hadn't felt in a long time. Convinced it was still a part of his fleeting dreams, the artist only sighed, a ghost of a smile playing about his lips.

"So you _can_ smile."

Gakupo's eyes flew open, his heart nearly slamming out his chest as he saw not the ceiling, but Len's faintly amused features hovering above him. "Len?!" He twisted around where he sat, his back knocking into the coffee table and nearly tipping it again as he faced the teen. "You're awake…!"

"Of course I am," Len laughed quietly. "It's not like…"

"What the _hell_?!" Gakupo lurched to his feet, cutting off the teen and snatching the pager from the coffee table. "What's _wrong_ with you?" He waved the little device in front of the kid's face like one might brandish a crucifix in the face of a vampire. "If you _know_ that you might fall asleep, _why the fuck were you sitting on the railing of a bridge_?!"

That, at least, seemed to affect him. Len blinked, his eyes growing slightly more wide. "On the railing? Is _that_ where you found me?"

"No," Gakupo bit out bitterly. "I found you falling off—you're lucky I was there or you would have died! Is it really safe for you to leave your house like this? What if I wasn't me, what if I was some kind of criminal looking for someone to take advantage of, huh? The way you were sleeping I could have done _anything_ to you and you wouldn't have noticed! I mean _honestly_ you…" He faltered, his voice dying in his throat as Len's bangs fell over his eyes. "Len…?"

Without any warning, the kid stood. "I get it, okay?" He shoved his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out Gakupo's gloves, tossing them forcefully onto the table. He looked as if he was about to say something else, but he clenched his jaw and turned away. "Sorry for the trouble, I'll be leaving now."

"Like hell you will be," Gakupo snatched Len's arm. "I'm not nearly done with what I've got to tell you."

"I already know the rest!" Len turned to face him, his eyes smoldering with emotions Gakupo had never seen within them. "It's not 'just narcolepsy' it's an extremely advanced condition—you need to be more careful who you spend time with, someone is going to take advantage of you—if you don't stop doing this you're going to get hurt!" His voice was harsh, the volume raising with every line. "I hate this part the most!" He coughed, his breath faltering and failing until it only escaped in violent gasps. He swallowed hard and tugged his arm free, forcing himself calm with tempered inhales and counted exhales. "I hate…" Len rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, his shoulders sagging as if all of the energy had left his body with that outburst.

"Len…" Gakupo's voice grew softer as he stepped forward, cautiously closing some of the distance between them. Prompted by Gakupo's gentler tone, Len lifted his eyes. The tears brimming within them struck Gakupo like a blow, tearing his breath right out of his chest.

In that moment, Len's eyes were so _blue_. Like the sky and the sea and the petals of a bluebell and a glacier caught in the breath of a summer thaw, melting over the frame of feathery black lashes and trailing down his cheek.

Before he knew what was happening, Gakupo's lips were pressed against Len's. It was a brief, chaste contact that left a lingering taste of cinnamon on Gakupo's mouth. Entranced, Gakupo leaned in for another, and another, relishing the softness of the teen's lips and the way his breath hitched with every contact. It wasn't until Len's fingers curled in the front of Gakupo's shirt that the actions sunk in. _What the hell are you doing?!_ With a startled exclamation, Gakupo backpedaled, slamming his hand over his mouth and backing up until his back bumped the entertainment center.

Len stood, seemingly in a daze, his eyes red and his cheeks ever redder, his fingers raised almost apologetically to his own pale lips.

"Y-you're right," Gakupo finally sputtered, looking away, feeling his own face grow uncomfortably warm. "You should definitely leave."

 _As if that's going to work…!_ Gakupo groaned inwardly as Len shook his head slowly.

"Gakupo," the artist realized quite suddenly that it was the first time Len had addressed him by his name, his melodic voice purling over every syllable in such a way that Gakupo felt his resolve crumbling to pieces. "Were you that worried about me…?"

Gakupo's eyes found a faint coffee stain on his area rug. "I guess so."

With near-silent, unsteady steps, Len drifted closer. "I'm sorry," he murmured, "if I scared you. I should have told you sooner." He held up the little pager. "When you collapsed at the bridge the first time, this is how I saved you." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I guess now we're even."

"You probably shouldn't go around that bridge anymore," Gakupo sighed, letting his hands fall to his hips. "Honestly, you got really lucky that _anyone_ was around, especially since it was about to rain."

"I can't," the answer was simple enough, but it brought a frown to Gakupo's lips.

"And why is that?"

Len's eyes met his steadily, full of concern. "If I don't, who will stop you from jumping?" He smiled a small, somber smile. "I know you've been going there a lot, I even saw you on the trail once, but I got wrapped up in some stuff and couldn't make it to the bridge."

Gakupo bit his tongue. _How were you so close to promising him you wouldn't jump? You made your decision, stick to it you coward…!_ "Look, it's…"

"No." Len's eyes were steel. "I'll stop going when you do."

"That's…"

Puffing his breath out in an exasperated exhale, Len reached up, fisting his fingers in the front of Gakupo's shirt and pulling him down to his eye level. Blushing furiously, he snapped as fiercely as he could, " _You_ kissed _me_ , Gakupo. Take responsibility."

Gakupo felt his eyebrow twitch. _Forget suicide… this kid is going to be the death of me._


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I am so. so. sorry. about how long it took for me to update this. The good news is I have an itch for writing this fic right now so you can expect one hell of an update rush. Please forgive me ;-;**

 **And a huge thank you to those of you that have followed & faved, and an especially huge thanks to my reviewers on this fic. I love you guys, and will get back into answering individual reviews next chapter (granted there are reviews to answer).**

 **Thank you all for reading, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

 _How did this happen?_

Gakupo still had no idea. Part of him wanted to pretend it was all part of some bizarre dream, but there was no denying the presence of the stubborn narcolept that had forced his way into the artist's life. To be quite honest, Gakupo _still_ wasn't sure how Len had managed to find his way back to his apartment after leaving the week prior.

"Are you listening?"

Gakupo blinked, forcing the bleary fog of sleep from his eyes and trying to focus on the teen standing in front of him. "No," he muttered. "Not particularly."

Len sighed. "Gakupo, didn't you sleep last night?"

"No," Gakupo let his eyes close again. "Not particularly."

Despite himself, Gakupo felt a smile quirk the corner of his mouth as Len let out some exasperated exclamation or another and sat on the couch beside him. As much as he wanted to, Gakupo couldn't say that he was really against Len being there, it's not like his presence changed his resolve. But until Gakupo could find the strength to pick up his paintbrush again, the company was nice; inspiring, even.

The artist cracked open one eye, watching curiously as Len's gaze travelled up and down the curtains that covered the windows.

"You know," he caught Gakupo's open eye in his captivating blue gaze like the tide pulling in shells from the shore. "I bet this place wouldn't feel so sad if you'd open those curtains every now and again."

With all the strength he possessed, Gakupo tore his gaze away. He sat up and snagged his cigarettes off of the table. "So why don't you open them? You've already done as you pleased with the kitchen. It only makes sense that you'd move to the living room next."

"I can't," the playful smile dancing about Len's lips gave his words a charming tilt. "Too tired."

Gakupo's brow twitched as he lit his cigarette. "Lazy narcolept."

"Isn't that kind of an oxymoron?" Len laughed breezily.

"No," Gakupo rolled his eyes. "It's just an adjective and a noun. Didn't you learn this stuff in an English class or something?"

The teen shrugged. "Must have slept through that part."

Gakupo's forehead hit his palm, but he couldn't hide the smile that Len's own laughter brought out of him, even as that laughter slowly but surely faded into deep, level breaths. Gakupo chanced a glance out of the corner of his eye, his expression softening at the sight. _He always seems to sleep so peacefully…_

Gakupo stood and moved as quietly as he could to the kitchen. He hadn't been kidding; Len had gone to town in his kitchen, filling it with matching hand towels and pot holders, and filling his fridge and cupboards with groceries little by little.

 _And of course, all of my alcohol somehow managed to find a garbage can._

"Compromise!" Len had cheered, his face bright and innocent as he tossed bottle after bottle. "You can smoke or you can drink, but you can't do both."

 _Oh, how the mighty have fallen._ Gakupo pulled a bottle of cream soda out of the fridge instead. Easily popping the top off, Gakupo started to toss it aside, only to remember Len complaining of the countless beer caps mid-motion. He cussed under his breath as he awkwardly fumbled the tiny piece of metal. It hit the floor with a nearly playful _ting_ and rolled under the oven. _Fuck it._ Gakupo shook his head and turned his eyes to the heavens. For a long number of moments, Gakupo stood there in the kitchen, having nothing to do and no desire to seek an activity out. It was - by a generous margin - one of his better days. His arms didn't itch, and the lack of alcohol in his system left him without so much of a throb in his head. He almost took Len's advice and opened the curtains, but bookmarked the idea for later, worried that the sunlight coming through the windows would disturb the teen's sleep. _Like something as mild as sunlight could wake that boy._

He had never met someone with narcolepsy before; to say it was a curious condition was an understatement. The blond teen was an enigma - he hardly spoke of himself, but was alarmingly aware of the things that went on around him. Gakupo couldn't help but to feel that Len somehow knew a lot more about him than Gakupo knew about the teen, and the thought was unsettling. Numb as he was to the world, Gakupo _had_ noticed a few things about the boy. For starters, like Gakupo, he seemed to see himself in poor lighting. As lofty as he could be, his confidence when speaking to Gakupo was a blatant sign that, to some extent, Len understood how he felt. He claimed not to go to the bridge to jump, but Gakupo felt safe betting that his choice to sit on the railing, knowing very well how sudden his narcoleptic attacks could come on, was some sort of gamble with fate for the teen. Something along the lines of, "If today's the day I fall asleep here and fall, then that's just the way it is." In his head it sounded like something the blond would say.

Then there was his smile. Pale lips - just a few shades paler than the dusty rose-petal flush that sometimes graced his cheeks - would lift comfortably into the shape, flashing gleaming teeth with a puff of laughter. But as naturally as the motion came to him, Gakupo was no amateur when it came to acting. Luka was, after all, a theatre major. The motion was as practiced as Gakupo's brush strokes, and the laughter never touched his eyes. Like Gakupo was a prisoner to his dull gray eyes, Len was a captive, too, but he didn't want others to notice. A captive of what, Gakupo couldn't say. _His narcolepsy? Family problems?_

Gakupo raked his fingers through his hair and took another swig of his cream soda, realizing as his thoughts cleared that he was still lingering in the entryway of the kitchen. His eyes trailed to the couch, where Len was still slouched comfortably against a stack of pillows, so relaxed he looked as if he might melt into the plush cushions.

 _Will there ever be a better time?_ Gakupo's snide inner voice reared it's head. Gakupo turned sharply to the side and ascended the short flight of stairs to the loft. _What? You can't bring yourself to sit next to a sleeping boy? He wouldn't wake right now if the apartment complex collapsed into Hell, so why not? You're going to kill yourself anyway - you may as well enjoy your last few days._

With great strength, Gakupo pushed the voice away, taking deep breaths as he fell onto his bed. He couldn't deny that he'd thought of it; the feel of Len's unsuspecting lips as he'd claimed them for the first time haunted his dreams, and the artist longed to test the extent of his compliance.

"You filthy bastard," Gakupo muttered into the pillows. _He's just a kid._ He remembered the innocent surprise that had blossomed in Len's eyes, the stain that flared across his cheeks as he'd lifted his fingertips to his lips.

" _You kissed me, Gakupo, take responsibility!"_

A groan rattled the artist's chest. Painting Len was proving to be far harder than he'd imagined. _I should give up now,_ his mind droned on idly, _before I accidentally hurt the kid._

Decision made, Gakupo rolled onto his back and fished his cigarettes out of his pocket. His good day was deteriorating around him while Len slept, the gray haze around his peripherals growing darker and more agitated. The more he realized painting Len was a horrible idea, the more fury built inside him. Like a deep sea geyser, fuming and frothing but never breaching the surface. His broken fingernails dug into his palms and his breath faltered into sharp, shallow rasps. He wanted to die.

 _No._ More than that, he wanted to be in _pain_ , he wanted his skin - his muscles - his bones - to hurt more than his chest. He wanted relief from the weight that seemed to pin him helplessly to his mattress, stabbing ruthlessly at his heart and lungs.

Gakupo was on his feet before he registered the motion, the world spinning around him as he lurched into his make-shift art studio. _That's right,_ that snide little voice goaded him on. _Paint. Paint as if your life depends on it - paint because it_ hurts _. And when you're through with this canvas, when you've ruined it as much as you've ruined yourself, you can go die._

Cold jet blacks and arctic grays smeared Gakupo's pallet, soaked into the bristles of the brush and up through the delicate handle into his broiling veins. Snarling venomously under his breath, Gakupo surrendered his will to the brush and paint, letting his despair and desperation flood his senses until, again, nothing but cold, bleak grays remained.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Thick lashes fluttered slowly, teasing the dim room with slivers of vibrant cobalt. _What time is it…?_ Len blinked blearily at the dull curtains. He didn't try to move yet; he could still feel the tingle of exhaustion in his limbs, like thousands of tiny pinpricks rippling through his veins. He tried lifting his arm, only to sigh when his fingers twitched feebly. _It was a longer attack than I expected…_ The sun seemed to have set, leaving a lingering golden glow around the edge of the curtains. It was rapidly fading - more quickly than Len's fatigue - and he could only watch as the last of the light left the room. _Where did he go…?_

His arm jerked as his heart stuttered, his favorite bridge flashing to the front of his mind. _Has he gone to jump?_ The teen blew out a sharp breath, rocking forward and letting the momentum carry him to his feet. He wasn't sure why, but Len didn't think that was the case. Still, he had a bad feeling. Len didn't wait for the dizzy spell to subside, staggering uneasily around the couch. He leaned heavily on the furniture as he moved, frustrated by the sluggish weight dragging at his limbs.

"G-Gakupo…?" Len struggled to remember what had happened before he'd finally fallen asleep. They'd been sitting on the couch, and he'd made a joke - one that had brought a wry smile to Gakupo's lips. Len had exhaled a shallow laugh, only to be caught off guard by Gakupo's own chuckle. Before he knew it, he was laughing in earnest, and his arms were failing him. Gakupo had shaken his head and turned back to face Len, and by the way the wrinkles on his forehead had smoothed and his shoulders had sagged, Len knew that his unwilling host thought he was already asleep. He'd gone to the kitchen, then…

With his delicate brows furrowed, Len remembered listening to the older man's footsteps. Growing stronger with every passing heartbeat, Len released the couch and made his way to the stairs. He dreaded the thought of scaling them, but his unease far outweighed his longing to rest his aching muscles. _You just woke up…!_ He scoffed silently at himself and forced his feet forward. His pulse quickened as he climbed, his breaths falling shallow and uneven, half from the exertion and half in mounting panic. _Please be okay…_

As he reached the loft, the scene that unfolded before Len's strained blue eyes was nothing short of surreal. There was so much to take in, and somehow very little. First he saw the sheets, stormy gray and black and hanging over countless easels like poorly-made ghost costumes. His eyes fell to the floor as it crinkled beneath his shoe. "A tarp?" Paint of all colors splattered the worn, stiff fabric. Layers and layers of drips and spills, some aged and chipping off, and some so recent it looked almost as if it had been spilled only minutes ago. Splashes of slate gray clouded the dried paint, accented by harsh splatters of paler silvers and darker blacks. Len's eyes followed the curious trail of fresh paint until it began mingling with tangled strands of violet hair. The teen's breath caught in his throat. Before he knew it, he was on his knees at Gakupo's side, unknowing or uncaring of the paint that stained his clothes as he slid to the ground.

"H-Hey!" The man was all but covered in the thick gray paints, their ashy tones making his skin look eerily pale and drawing out the harsh dark circles under his eyes. His eyelids twitched, but he did not stir, and Len let out a heavy sigh of relief. "An REM cycle," he murmured to himself. "He must have just passed out, but…" Len tilted his head back, looking up at the painting Gakupo had collapsed in front of. It loomed over him like a tidal surge, reminding him instantly of the look that constantly plagued Gakupo's violet eyes. Len cocked his head to the side, unable to stop a small, sad smile from gracing his lips. "Is this what you've been fighting?" He pulled his fingers gently through Gakupo's hair. An idea struck him, and with a satisfied hum Len stood again.

 _First…_ He ducked back downstairs, snagging a pillow and blanket from the couch before returning to the loft and settling Gakupo more comfortably. He then took to the various shelves and cabinets, marvelling at just how many supplies Gakupo could _fit_ in such a small loft. He dared not touch anything that looked expensive, settling on a worn brush that looked as if it hadn't been so much as glanced at in years. He grabbed a pallet and a couple tubes of paint, not looking at the colors before squeezing them onto the small tray.

"Now then," he faced the fury of Gakupo's painting with knowing eyes and a bitter smile. "It's time this storm subsided."

* * *

Len wasn't sure how long he stood there, humming softly under his breath before the words started to form on his lips. He was no good at art - he had been reminded of that plenty often enough growing up. It was singing, drawing his feeling out from deep in his chest and putting words and rhythms to them, that made Len happiest. The song came on its own to Len, as it often did, untitled and unwritten, soothing and dulcet against the distress that rippled from the painting.

"Daremo inai heya de hitori… shizumu taiyou wo nagameru… futo-o…"

A soft groan sealed Len's lips, and he turned to blink curiously at Gakupo as the man pushed himself upright. "What…"

"Good morning," Len offered a lopsided smile. "Did you sleep well?"

"I…" Gakupo held up his hand, as if confused by something he saw within the paint on his palm. All at once, a thousand realizations seemed to strike him. His eyes shot wide and he scrambled to his feet, heedless of the blanket as it fell into a fresh paint spill. "What are you _doing_? Why are you up here?!" His nostrils flared, but Len didn't falter.

"When I woke up I couldn't find you downstairs," he explained as if it was obvious. "I came up here and found you passed out in front of this painting, and…" All of the anger in the painting was brewing anew in Gakupo's eyes, a hurricane of orchid and amethyst that threatened to sweep Len away.

"Out."

It was one word, sharp and articulate. Len blinked, innocently bewildered. "But I…"

"Get. Out."

Two words, each colder than the last. "Get out." His voice was like splintering ice as it rasped from his throat. "Get _out_!"

Len flinched back, dropping the brush and palette with a muted clatter. He opened his mouth, then clamped it shut. The teen chewed the inside of his lip, weighing his options. Gakupo was unstable - he was a danger to himself in this state, and maybe to others. Len pushed a hand into his pocket, thumbing the button on his pager. "And what if I don't?"

Gakupo growled something unsavory under his breath. Before Len could guess at what it might have been, the man was in front of him. "Gakupo, wait!"

But he didn't. Len jerked back, his elbow and shoulder fetching up against the painting, smudging the fresh paint. Not quickly enough, it seemed, as Gakupo's hand locked around the teen's wrist in a vice grip. Despite himself, Len yelped. "Wait, wait, that hurts…!" He pulled back as hard as he could, but Gakupo tugged him easily forward. Len's pulse flew, panic seizing in his chest. "Gaku-" his voice tilted and faltered. _Oh, no, no._ "St-top," Len's jaw went slack.

Gakupo opened his mouth to bite out a furious retort, but the sight of Len's mouth hanging limp must have caught him off-guard. Still in control of everything from the neck down, Len jerked back desperately, nearly freeing himself from Gakupo's iron hand. He ripped his hand out of his pocket, dropping the pager and trying to pry Gakupo's hand away. As he struggled, his heel slammed down, searching for purchase. Instead it met wet paint, shooting out from under him and sending him plummeting to the ground. Unprepared for the sudden weight, Gakupo all but collapsed on top of him. He threw out his hands to catch himself as Len toppled backwards, taking the painting and easel with him. They ended up in a clumsy pile on the floor, paint splattered and smeared all over them.

As quickly as it had come, the storm in Gakupo's eyes passed, replaced with horror. "Len?" He sat up quickly, lifting his weight from the teen. "Kid? Are you alright? You…"

Len flicked his gaze to meet Gakupo's, only able to offer a weak gurgle in response, followed by a fit of coughing. He could feel the weakness dripping down his spine, seeping into his shoulders and back.

"Shit," Gakupo cursed. "Fuck…!" He looked as panicked as Len had felt moments ago, though _his_ body showed no signs of failing him. Unable to speak, or even lift his head, Len could only fist his hand in Gakupo's shirt as the man turned away, a feeble attempt at stopping him as he easily pulled free and picked up the pager. He mashed the button a few times, then moved back to Len's side. He looked dead on his feet, his eyes hollow and haunted. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I know you want to help me, but kid… Len, I just… I don't want help."

Len silently cursed the drool escaping the corner of his mouth, hating himself more in that moment than he ever remembered. _And you think I do?!_ He wanted to scream, he wanted to take hold of Gakupo's shirt and shake until the man saw sense; he nearly wanted to kiss him again. _Nearly?_ A blatant heat rose to Len's cheeks.

"Great," Gakupo sighed, "now it looks like you've got a fever…"

 _How dense can you be?_

There was a pounding at the door, and Gakupo shot to his feet. "That must be for you." He took the stairs two at a time, leaving Len to blow out a frustrated breath. He could hear them talking, hear Gakupo explaining that they'd had a disagreement and he wasn't sure what happened and then Len was on the floor.

It occurred to Len in that moment that Gakupo didn't know very much about narcolepsy.

"You said in the loft?" A familiar voice preluded Sandra's appearance. She was more or less Len's assigned emergency paramedic. "Ah, yes, there he is." She came to his side, entering his field of view with a scowl on her face. "I see your eyes are open, are you still will us, Len?"

Len fluttered his lashes, hoping for a pleading expression. Sandra rolled her eyes. "Pretty lashes aren't going to save you this time."

Gakupo sounded thoroughly bewildered as he chimed in hesitantly, "So is he… okay…?"

"Oh he'll be just fine, though he'll probably have some bruises. It's just cataplexy setting in."

"Cata...plexy?"

The other paramedics lifted Len onto a stretcher. Len wished fervently that Sandra would stop talking. He tried once more to speak, only managing to cough on the drool pooling in his mouth.

"Alright, alright, I know you're embarrassed," Sandra patted Len's arm in a comforting way. "Don't worry Mr…?"

"Kamui. Gakupo Kamui."

"Mr. Kamui, then. He's in good hands."

Len met his eyes one last time, willing Gakupo not to do anything in his absence. _Meet me at the bridge again,_ he wanted to tell him, beg him. _Wait for me, paint a thousand angry portraits but please don't jump._ Fatigue claimed him as he held Gakupo's gaze, and he committed that image, those impossibly wistful violet eyes, to his memory, allowing that sorrow to haunt his dreams. _I don't want to be alone anymore._

* * *

 **A/N: First chapter from Len's point of view! I apologize if it was a bit disorienting, but it's a lot easier to explain some of the things that are happening to Len through him experiencing them as opposed to Gakupo asking about them. Anyway, I hinted at it without saying outright, but, for the reviewer (Lenka?) that was wondering:**

 **The song Len keeps singing is "Untitled Song" written by DATEKEN; I've pretty much been playing it on loop, as it is one of the songs that inspired this story. Len's version is lovely, and Hyurno does a beautiful cover, as well.**


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